Movie Night
by hyperempathie
Summary: When Token organizes their monthly movie night, Clyde Donovan finds that articulating his infatuation a difficult task. Kevin Stoley, however, agrees that spontaneous love confessions should only be delivered when one or both parties are intoxicated, as Clyde has proven. (Stolovan)


This had become a ritual for them- at the end of each month, they'd gather at Token Black's house and watch a film. They nominated films and tallied votes throughout the month, and usually, they all agreed on one movie. This month, it was The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, on the account that _"we need a night dedicated to Martin Freeman going on adventures for 2h", _as Clyde eloquently put it.

Craig was the first to show up, and he tightened his scarf around his neck with one hand while the other pressed the doorbell erratically. It was cold. The wind hit his face like tiny pinpricks and he shut his eyes tightly. January 31st.

Token opened the door and greeted him with a hasty apology for making him wait, and Craig nodded before unwrapping his scarf and peeling the jacket from his skinny frame. His boots followed suit and he cracked his knuckles.

"So, what are we doing?" he always showed up first to help set everything up.

Token began explaining the configuration of the coffee table in the living room and how long to put the popcorn in the microwave for, before his speech was interrupted by a knock on the door. Kevin Stoley.

He had the habit of knocking even when a doorbell was recommended, and Token mentioned this fact as he was removing his shoes and absentmindedly humming in approval at whatever the African American was talking about.

They cleared the living room besides couch and table, Kevin making sure to set down coasters for everyone.

"Kevin, you're the only person I know who drinks alcohol from a glass," Craig would announce. Token could be heard snickering from the kitchen as he dug out cans of beer from the fridge and placed a generous amount on the floor, next to the table.

"I'm _classy_," he emphasized, before adding, "Token, please don't give Tweek any vodka, he threw up on my good shoes last time."

The doorbell rang one last time, and Clyde let himself in after 3 nanoseconds, Tweek in tow. He spared Kevin a glance, but when the Stoley boy returned it, he shifted his gaze over to the others.

"Tweek's a fucking maniac," he declared, "he almost killed us like three times driving here."

"It wasn't my fault, asshole," the blond kid's raspy voice retaliated, "you kept spilling your coffee all over the front seat."

Craig, Tweek and Token rushed to the couch and spread out as much as possible, leaving Clyde to sit on the floor with Kevin. He plopped down, their knees bumped against each other and Clyde wondered if that was a normal thing to notice.

Or if it was normal to notice the way the light of the television made his skin look sickly pale, the way his features were intense, like he hadn't been sleeping, and he wondered, but felt scared to realize, if Kevin only felt relaxed when he was asleep.

He slowly shifted his hand closer to Kevin Stoley's as he watched his eyes widen at the scenery projected in front of them. Clyde figured he should try and pay attention to the movie as well, but as soon as he gazed at the screen, his eyes went out of focus and he thought of boys with coal hair and pale skin. _Goddammit, Kevin_, he thought.

Suddenly, Craig's breathy laughter filled the room, and they turned to look at him. He pointed his finger towards Tweek, who was holding the vodka bottle bottom side up, his adam's apple shifting with every gulp.

"Holy shit," Kevin whispered.

"Tweek, what the fuck?! You're driving," the other black haired boy tried to pry the bottle from his hands, before chugging some himself.

As the company got tipsier, Clyde learned that good movies are even better through the transparent film of booze. By 11PM, Token snored lightly in the background to accentuate every scene, and the sound of Craig swatting at his arm followed.

Clyde Donovan turned to look at his right, and there he was: Kevin _fucking_ Stoley, completely plastered, holding his stomach and giggling. His face tinted red with heat and contorted with the grin spread across it. Clyde was sure he'd never seen Kevin laugh this much. He smiled to himself.

Tweek fell off the couch with a _thump._

By the time the movie was over, it was easy to conclude Tweek was in no condition to go home, and Craig seemed to be spending the night too as he was snoring away, drooling on Token's shoulder, who had woken up only to continue drinking.

Clyde seemed hesitant as he got up and stumbled to gather his things. Kevin was already dressed, tying his shoes slowly, trying not to fall sideways in his drunken stupor.

When he stood up, he walked over to the door and waited for Clyde, who arched his brow in confusion.

"Come on, dude, I'll walk you home," he offered with an airy giggle. Kevin laughed like a girl.

"Sure."

The streets were dark and the wind felt sharp against Kevin's hands, who regretted not wearing gloves as he dug his hands deep into his pockets and exhaled. A single streetlight illuminated the concrete about 10 feet away. As they urged closer to it, Clyde noticed the contours of Kevin's face, the way his sunken eyes looked tired and tense, he wanted to take him home and let him sleep.

He found it ghastly and unfair how he could think up entire essays to describe the way Kevin's hands felt on his chest when they adjusted the buttons of his coat, but he couldn't muster up the courage to even look him in the eye.

"Clyde," Kevin stopped and turned to face him.

"Yeah?"

"Are you mad at me or something?" and Clyde felt taken aback by the accusation. But it made sense, they didn't talk as much as they used to, "did I do or say something to upset you?" _goddammit_.

"No, of course not, I just," he stepped closer to him until they were both under the streetlight. It had been ages since they had been alone like this, "I don't know what my feelings are doing right now and I don't wanna," he absentmindedly cracked his knuckles, "do something stupid."

Words seemed heavy and the hung in the air, Clyde felt inarticulate and strange.

"Do you want more," Kevin's hand was on his elbow, "more than this? Because," he shifted closer and guilt overtook him, like he was making assumptions based off of nothing, like he was reading too deeply into something that might have meant nothing. His sentence stood unfinished.

"_Goddammit_," Clyde whispered, his voice fading, and he looked up into Kevin's dark eyes, "I mean, fuck, I don't think I really know what I want."

"And you think I do?" he replied, "this is confusing to me, too, it's foreign, so don't," he paused, "don't think you're weird."

Clyde shivered against the cold, tension evident in his eyes.

"God, Clyde, relax," Kevin said softly, "dude, it's just me."

Just Kevin.

Just

Kevin.

He repeated it in his head like a mantra, but it only seemed to worsen his anxieties.

Kevin's cold hand was on his cheek and he felt like he was burning from the inside, like a permanent heater inside his ribcage was ignited with the spark of Kevin's fingertips.

_Oh fuck, oh fuck_, he thought, _he's gonna do it, oh god._

But then, just like that, it was over.

"You're not gonna…?" he let the question hang in the air, like he was ashamed to say it.

"Dude, I don't wanna make a big deal out of it. It should be haphazard and dumb," he grinned, "this however," and grabbed Clyde's hand, "doesn't have to wait."

Clyde Donovan wondered what he was even worried about as he walked with Kevin along the dark streets. He hoped their walk home would never end and his and Kevin's hands slowly got warmer and their conversation picked up as they discussed the importance of good armor during space battles.


End file.
